My You
by jam821
Summary: Because fate exists in every universe.
1. Chapter 1

_This picks up directly from the shooting in the beautifully crafted canon!AU from 7x06, The Time of Our Lives._

* * *

><p>Chapter 1<p>

"Stay with me, Mr. Castle. Castle, please. Stay with me."

She pleads over and over as she tugs her phone from her pocket, calling 911 as fast as she can. When she's been assured an ambulance is on its way, she drops the phone to the ground, focusing her attention completely on the man beneath her.

His eyes flutter, and a deep groan that sounds suspiciously like "Kate" bubbles up from his throat.

"No. No! Castle, come on. Don't leave me." She pushes hard, one hand on each gunshot wound, thick, warm blood gurgling up and squeezing between her fingers as tears press against her eyes. But she won't cry. Not yet. A bus is on its way. Help is coming if she can just keep him here for a little while longer.

Because she absolutely refuses to let him die.

Whatever has happened the last couple of days, she's not ready to give him up. This man, with his crazy stories, knowing things that he shouldn't know, saying things he shouldn't be able to say, breaking through to her in ways that no one else ever has; he can't leave. He can't just show up, turn her world upside down and inside out, and expect to walk away, to abandon her without giving up any answers.

Hell no.

He's held her gaze since he hit the ground, his lids drooping as he fights off the loss of consciousness, but, with the passage of time, each blink gets longer and longer until he doesn't open his eyes again. The sound of a siren breaks through her begging and the fog of helplessness in her brain, and she screams, "Here! We're here!" desperate for someone with better field training, with more knowledge to save him.

Her heart cracks, a lone tear dripping from each eye as she watches him begin to fade away, and, keeping the pressure on the wounds, she leans forward, breathing him in just in case.

Just in case this is the only chance she'll ever get.

She drops a kiss on his cheek, the skin warm and soft beneath her lips, and she whispers assurances in his ear until the EMTs peel her away, stepping into her place as they assess the damage and load him up. Swift and efficient, as professionals should be. As she should be.

But something has changed. Something. Him. He has reached deep into her heart, pulling emotion and pain from places she'd long since buried, covered with layers of limestone, brick, and steel, and he's exposed her most vulnerable parts. She's no longer rational, no longer professional. No longer a cop, or a captain.

She's just a woman watching a man who came from nowhere, who just said he loves her, who looks at her in ways no one ever has before, dying because he'd sacrificed himself to save her. It's too much. She's done nothing to deserve this.

Frozen in place, she watches them strap the gurney down, one team member jumping behind the wheel, one pulling supplies from this drawer and that, while a third straddles Castle's waist, his hands pressing down where Kate's had just been as he tries to keep as much blood inside as possible. But when the door starts to shut behind them, she startles into action, racing forward.

"Wait. Wait, please."

The man stops, a look of annoyance and _I don't have time for this_ written all over his face, and she knows, damn it, she knows he doesn't have time, but she has to ask.

"Ma'am, there's no room and we have to go if you want him to live."

"I know. I know, I'm sorry. Just, what hospital?"

"Mount Sinai."

His words are clipped and harsh, only a miniscule trace of sympathy in his eyes as he slams the door, the ambulance roaring away, leaving her with three dead criminals and a murder to put to bed.

Her knees give out, the pavement hard and unforgiving as she collapses under the weight of what just happened, and tears leak from her eyes, burning tracks on her cheeks. Taking deep breaths, the oxygen does nothing to calm the beat of her heart, the ache in her chest, and she bangs her fist on the ground, leaving a bloody print behind. The red mark brings her up short, shocking her out of the whirlpool of panic.

She has to get to him, has to be there when he wakes up. If he asks for her, if he wants her at all…

She has to be there.

Grabbing her phone from where it rests on the ground, bloody fingerprints appearing wherever her fingers touch, she calls Espo. It rings once before his distracted voice comes over the line.

"Esposito."

"Espo."

"Captain?" She hears his chair creak as he sits up, his full attention on her, and she imagines his face transforming, readying himself for whatever she may ask. He's always been so loyal, since their days as a detective team, since they were running the streets together, and she's never been so grateful for that than she is now.

"Grab Ryan and get down to the coal plant. I have the rest of the story and three dead bodies for you."

"Three? Jesus, Cap'. What the hell happened?"

"Just do it. I'll explain when you get here."

She ends the call, dropping her cell to the pavement as her eyes close. She needs this time to get herself together, to move away from Kate and back into Captain Beckett.

To get her head back in the game.

After all, she still has a job to do, and the job always comes first.

* * *

><p>She finally makes it to Mount Sinai two hours later. It's longer than she wanted, longer than she'd meant, but procedure is procedure and every step takes time. Ryan and Esposito have taken the reins at the crime scene, fully capable of wrapping it all up and getting their reports written back at the Twelfth without her supervision, so now she's here, hesitantly stepping through the doors of the ER, terrified of what she'll find.<p>

He can't be dead.

She stops just inside, her eyes scanning the waiting room for…something. She's not sure what. Has the hospital notified his family? Should she have done it? A moment of panic takes over as she imagines what that news would have sounded like to them, his mother and daughter.

Kate has been on the receiving end of those words; she knows what it's like to have someone you've never met destroy your entire world with just a simple phrase.

_Your mother has been murdered._

_Your father has been shot._

At least, in this case, in Castle's case, there's hope left. There's a chance he's not gone, and that's what pushes her to the receptionist's desk.

"Excuse me."

The older woman looks up, a pleasant, open smile on her face, and Kate offers a small one back. It's all she can muster under the weight of the unknown.

"Can I help you?"

"Yes." She brushes her coat to the side, tapping the badge clipped to her belt. "Captain Kate Beckett, NYPD. I'm looking for a patient. A Mr. Richard Castle. Brought in with a gun shot wound to the chest."

"I'm sorry, but I can't release confidential information regarding a patient to anyone who isn't family."

The nurse has the decency to look apologetic, but the conviction in her eyes is obvious. She is dedicated to her job and the privacy of her patients, but Kate doesn't have time for this and she has a moment of silent gratitude that her authority outweighs this woman's.

"It's official business. He's a vital witness in an open NYPD investigation, and I need to know the status of his condition immediately."

She's proud of how steady her voice comes out, how strong she sounds despite the fact that she's barely keeping it together on the inside. The desire to just grab the computer and search for his name on her own grows stronger with every moment she stands here, but finally the woman nods as she begins typing.

"Uh. Looks like he's still in surgery. No more information than that I'm afraid, but if he has any family here they'll be in the waiting room down the hall."

The nurse points to the left, toward an empty corridor lined with closed doors and fluorescent lighting, and Kate absorbs this information. His family. Is she ready to face them? To show them comfort and support when she herself is in such desperate need of it? She's not sure she'll have anything to offer them, but she also knows she can't sit out here alone, not when he jumped in front of a bullet to save her and is currently fighting to get his own life back.

Turning to the desk again, Kate nods at the nurse. "Thank you," she says before she faces the hallway, striding toward the secluded waiting room with a confidence she doesn't feel.

Five doors down on the right, there's a plaque on the wall that reads "Surgical Waiting", and she pauses with her hand outstretched toward the sleek metal handle, taking a moment to peek through the only uncovered window into the room.

It's empty save for two women, one older with fiery red hair and a bright pink and orange patterned dress, and one younger, no more than twenty or so, with long black hair and pale skin. They are silent, both staring at the floor, unmoving in their vigil until the younger girl's blue eyes suddenly land on Kate. There is a question in the tilt of her head, the pinch of her mouth, and Kate takes a stuttered breath at being caught, at the intensity of those blue eyes, so perfectly matched to Castle's.

This must be his daughter.

Kate blinks, realizing she must look like a lunatic standing in the hall, staring at them, and she grasps the handle, pushing the door open and stepping into the utter silence of the room. The noise of the door clicking shut attracts the older woman's attention as well, and Kate's steps falter as they both settle their gazes on her.

But, no. She can do this. She will be strong for them if she can just get to a chair, give her knees a chance to rest before they give out on her completely. It's going to be okay.

They track her movements across the room, neither saying a word even as she settles into a chair directly across from them, but that's when she notices the puffy redness around the younger girl's eyes, her fingers twisting in her lap in agitation and restlessness. Kate sees so much of her younger self in this girl, precariously balancing on the edge of the abyss that only opens when the death of a parent hovers near, and she has to clench her hands into fists to keep from reaching for her.

Instead she speaks, the sound of her voice cracking the silence and startling them all. "Are you Richard Castle's family?"

"And you are?"

It's the older woman who asks, and Kate tears her gaze away from the girl's, clearing her throat to answer.

"Captain Kate Beckett, NYPD. I was with him when- I was there. I just wanted to know how he was doing and see if either of you needed anything."

"Beckett?"

This time it's the younger girl who speaks, the confusion transforming her features as she thinks, as though she's trying to make sense of something that's plagued her for a while.

"Uh, yes. Kate Beckett. Mr. Castle was helping me with a case."

"He's been talking about you. The last couple of days. Who are you to him?"

She laughs a startled mirthless sound because she's been wondering the exact same thing since the moment he'd arrived in her precinct.

"I honestly don't know. He showed up in my precinct two days ago, claiming all sorts of things that can't possibly be true. I'd never met him before that so your guess is as good as mine."

"Well, darling, I haven't seen that kind of passion and enthusiasm emanating from him in years so if you had something to do with that change then you are more than welcome here. I am Martha, his mother, and this is Alexis, his daughter."

Kate feels her cheeks heat up at Martha's words, her pulse quickening at the easy acceptance from this woman. There's no way she could have made such a difference in him in such a short time - she doesn't even know him - but she finds the light smile, the gratitude shining in Martha's eyes easing the tension along her shoulders.

"It's a pleasure to meet you both although I wish it were under better circumstances. Have you heard anything yet?"

Alexis sits forward, her head tilted to the side and her expression closed off, much harder than her grandmother's, although Kate can't blame her.

"Nothing, except that the surgery could take a few hours. Two bullets to the chest."

Kate nods. Knowing several people who have been shot in the line of duty during her years on the force, she's no stranger to gun shot recovery. But before she can say anything more, Alexis continues.

"So how did you guys meet? Seems like you came out of nowhere."

"He did, really. Came out of nowhere. For me, anyway. He just showed up at the precinct. Claimed a lot of things that aren't true, that can't possibly be true-"

"Like what?"

Meeting Alexis' eyes, Kate pauses, trying to decide whether or not to share the fantastical tales that Castle had been telling her, the fact that it felt as though they'd known each other forever even though they'd just met.

How does she explain to his family that he may be certifiably insane, and yet he made her feel whole, loved, for the first time in almost sixteen years? Since her mother's murder had shattered her existence, reducing her to a shell of the woman she was growing up to be? How can she put into words the spark that had flickered to life under his gaze, his smile, when she can't even explain it to herself?

"He told me that he was from a parallel universe?"

It comes out as a question, because his story is ridiculous and impossible, but she's baffled to find that neither woman looks surprised in the least. Instead they both wait patiently for her to continue, as though they had been expecting this, had already known that's how he'd felt.

"He said that, where he came from, he and I were together. That we'd met six years ago on another case where someone was killing and matching the crime scenes to those found in his books. He said I was the one that worked that case, that he helped me with the solve and the experience had blossomed into a consultation with the NYPD."

"I remember that case. But it wasn't you. It was another detective. Mc-something. A male detective. It wasn't you, and he didn't consult after that case was solved," Alexis says, her voice quiet and withdrawn, her brow furrowed in confusion.

"Right. Detective McNulty was assigned that case. I was also working at the Twelfth as a detective at the time, but he never worked…not with me. But he'd seemed so sure… He'd believed it so fiercely when he was telling me about it that I don't know what to think."

Martha shakes her head as a soft smile plays across her lips. "That's my son. Always was a storyteller. Always finding inspiration in the most unlikely of sources. Perhaps he inadvertently came across you, found something in the idea of you that's awakened his imagination once again. Whatever it is, my dear, I am glad you're here."

* * *

><p><em>To Elena, because apparently flattery will get you everywhere. ;)<em>

_And to Kylie and Jo, my beta dream team, thank you for your love, your unwavering acceptance of my quirks, and your beautiful smiles. This would be nothing without you both by my sides. xo_


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

They've been sitting in the waiting room for almost three hours when Martha stands and heads for the door. She doesn't look at Kate or Alexis, just moves through the lines of matching chairs until Alexis' voice stalls her steps.

"Gram, wait. Where are you going?"

Martha stops, but doesn't turn, and Kate can see the slight hunch of the woman's shoulders, the way her head dips almost imperceptibly as she tries to escape them. "I'm going to find some food. I'll bring back something for you both."

She's through the door before Alexis can say anything else, and the girl meets Kate's gaze as she deflates into her seat, the weight of fear and helplessness settling on shoulders too young for the burden. This girl, who so clearly loves her father with such ferocity and strength, doesn't deserve what's happening to him, to his family, and Kate cuts off eye contact, trying to hide the guilt that is seeping in.

He wouldn't have been there if it hadn't been for her, wouldn't have taken the bullets if he hadn't been trying to protect her. He shouldn't have been on the case, in the coal plant, and if she'd been thinking more like a cop and less like a woman, he wouldn't have been. They don't know each other. They don't have any sort of connection at all, let alone anything that would supersede his relationship with his daughter.

Her fingers twist in her lap, and she startles at the flakes of red that have dried into her nail beds and the creases around her knuckles, the hasty hand washing she'd done before coming down here apparently having done nothing to remove the evidence of her involvement in his shooting.

She tucks her hands beneath her thighs, hoping Alexis hasn't noticed the crimson tint to her skin, and that's when she feels the stiffness of her black shirt, sees the streak of red across the brass of her badge. She's covered in his blood, and this is the first time she's emerged from the haze long enough to notice.

The desire for a shower and fresh clothes hits her hard. The need for scorching water to beat at her skin, to wash away the stench of death and incompetence, leaving her raw and torn open physically just as she is emotionally, takes her breath away and she sits up straighter, the movement drawing Alexis' attention back.

Kate has a moment of panic where her stomach starts to roll. Not wanting to offer such a stark reminder of why they're sitting here in limbo, but also desperately needing to disappear into the closest bathroom before her body purges the little she's been able to eat today, she clears her throat, silently hoping her voice doesn't give her away.

"I have to use the restroom. Will you be okay here for a little while?"

Alexis nods, her expression unchanged as she appears to absorb Kate's declaration, and then her mouth quirks, eyes sparkling just a fraction. "I was wondering how long it would take you to notice."

"Huh?"

"The blood. I was going to give you another twenty minutes before I mentioned it. It's kinda grossing me out, to be honest."

Kate's jaw falls open in surprise, her brain trying to form a coherent response, and she would laugh if it weren't so obnoxiously morbid and inappropriate. She goes to run a hand through her hair, before stopping and wrinkling her nose. "Oh, Alexis. I'm so sorry."

The girl shakes her head, showing a maturity that surprises Kate, adding to the consistently growing list of unexpected traits Richard Castle's daughter possesses. "It's… Fine. I appreciate what you did to help save him, but I wouldn't say no to you cleaning up a little. Sitting in this chair is about all the reminder I can handle right now."

"Jesus. I'm sorry. I'm so-"

"It's fine. Don't apologize. Just go. I'll be okay."

Kate hesitates, not wanting to leave Alexis alone, but the girl waves her off, turning her body toward the window as she pulls her legs up to her chest, resting her cheek on her knees, and Kate takes the hint.

She walks into the hall, softly closing the door to the waiting room behind her, and leans her back against the wall, shutting her eyes and taking a couple of breaths to get herself under control. Pushing off, she heads for her car, for the duffel bag of basic toiletries and a change of clothes that she always keeps in the trunk in case of emergencies.

This definitely qualifies as an emergency.

* * *

><p>She has no idea how long she's been standing here, stripped down to her bra and panties as the burning water runs over her hands. She'd already used a wet paper towel to wipe the dried blood from her abdomen, the streaks that had somehow made it to the stretch of skin just under her jaw, and now she's scraping at her nails, her fingertips, rubbing and rubbing as the stream runs pink and then clear again.<p>

Tears are dripping from her nose, mixing with the water in the sink, and she hunches over, dropping her forehead to the cold porcelain and gasping as the sobs wrack her body. She falls to the floor, the tiles frigid against her bare skin, and folds her body as small as it'll get.

The fear had hit her hard when she'd seen just how much of his blood was caked into her clothes, soaking through until it stained her skin. How could he have possibly survived when she was wearing such a significant amount of this vital fluid? Her shirt, pants, and jacket are all destroyed, not that she'd wanted to wear them again in the first place, but her hope is rapidly dwindling the longer she waits here without news.

Is he surviving the surgery? How much damage did he suffer? Will he ever fully recover or will he suffer the physical and mental effects of this for the rest of his life? Does he have hours or years? Will she ever see his face again?

The questions swirl round and round, knocking her from all angles until she can't tell what is up and what is down. She needs something, anything, that will calm the race of her heart, the whirlpool that is threatening to drag her under, drowning her minute by minute.

She folds her legs against her chest, wrapping her arms around her shins as she bangs her forehead against the sharp bones of her knees, using the physical pain to pull herself back together. Resting with her eyes squeezed shut, she focuses on deep breaths, in and out, in and out, startling when there's a knock on the door.

She looks up at the oversized white rectangle locking her away from the outside world, hoping whoever it is will just go away, leave her in peace for just a few more minutes, but the knock sounds again. Three gentle taps followed by a wiggle of the doorknob.

Clearing her throat, she stands, her joints protesting the sudden demand for their cooperation, and grabs her clean pair of pants to start getting dressed.

"Just a minute."

"Captain Beckett?"

Kate freezes at the voice, one leg caught in the denim of her jeans, and she has to hop to keep herself from falling over. It's Alexis.

Shit.

Alexis, the girl who's father is in surgery with life threatening wounds for no good reason, who Kate left alone for God knows how long while she dealt with her own nervous breakdown, and suddenly she can't get her clean clothes on fast enough. A couple of hours and she's already failing his family and him in so many ways.

"Hang on just a minute, Alexis. I'm almost done."

"Okay."

She tugs her purple sweater over her head, pulling her hair back into a ponytail rather than leave it to hang in such a mess around her shoulders, and then makes the mistake of looking at herself in the mirror. Her eyes are bloodshot, the skin puffy and swollen, but there's nothing to be done about it now. Splashing some cold water on her face and slipping her well-worn Chuck Taylors on her feet, she shoves everything else into her black duffel, making a mental note to burn the whole thing next chance she gets.

She swings the door open enough to step through before it shuts behind her, and catches sight of Alexis leaning against the wall while she waits. The girl stands up straight as soon as the door clicks shut, her eyes brightened with what can only be good news, and then her face falls, her brows drawing together and mouth turning down into a frown.

"Have you been crying?"

"Umm…" The noise comes out more as a grunt, and Kate rubs her cheeks self-consciously before she realizes the evidence cannot just be wiped away, that Alexis already knows the answer to her question. "Yeah, I was."

She shrugs, nothing else to say, no more words of explanation to offer, but Alexis lets it go, a grin stretching across her face as she says, "He's out of surgery."

* * *

><p>The first thing he feels is pain. Excruciating, debilitating, breath-stealing pain, the likes of which he's never experienced before. It feels like an eight thousand pound elephant is simultaneously sitting on his lungs, and shredding them to pieces with a dull knife.<p>

He gasps, clawing at anything within reach, trying to tear himself away from whatever is currently succeeding at slicing him in half, but his hands won't move; they won't lift or reach or grab in response to his brain's commands. He growls, or tries to until he realizes something is blocking his airway, and his eyes shoot open, bright lights blinding him to his surroundings.

His stomach starts to revolt, rolling and cramping in response to the pain and panic, when a figure appears in his line of sight. He doesn't recognize the woman's face, can't hear the words she's saying, but the light pressure of her hand settles on his cheek and she tugs on whatever is in his mouth. His eyes squeeze shut as she pulls, the feeling of a thousand razor blades scraping his throat raw until he can suck in a ragged breath, coughing and convulsing at the release.

The pain flares, his entire torso burning him from the inside out, and he groans, barely noticing the gravel quality to his voice, or the soothing tones of hers, as a warmth begins to settle over him. Little by little, any feeling disappears. Starting in his fingertips, traveling to his heart and down his legs, a weightlessness takes over until his brain stops registering anything at all.

And he falls back into a black abyss, brightened only by a pale face and hazel eyes he doesn't recognize.

* * *

><p>"Alexis. You're making me dizzy, darling. Please sit."<p>

Martha's voice appears to startle the girl, and she pauses in her pacing. Tension vibrates along her shoulders, down the curve of her spine as she holds herself still in response to her grandmother's command, and then she turns her head to look at them, her blue eyes bouncing between Kate and Martha before she plops into the nearest chair with a sigh.

"What's taking them so long, Gram? I need to see him."

They've been waiting. Still sitting here in this sterile room, just waiting. Despite the successful surgery, the extra hours of life he's been granted so far, they're waiting, and it's taking its toll on them all.

"Soon enough. They have to get him settled in a room. He's going to be okay now, Alexis. We just have to be patient."

Alexis nods, accepting Martha's words without question, and Kate tries to do the same, but the truth is, she feels just as restless as Alexis seems to. Surviving surgery is one thing, waking up is quite another, and, even if he does that, the road to recovery will not be traveled easily.

Rubbing her hand on her forehead, pushing her fingers into her temples, she tries to stave off the headache that has begun to beat behind her eyes. She'd finished the stale coffee Martha had brought back from the cafeteria along with a bagel and cream cheese that had quieted her stomach, and now they've settled back into the pattern of staring at the walls, quiet conversation when necessary, and waiting.

A gentle knock pulls their attention to the closed door, and together they watch as a petite woman in dark blue scrubs enters the room, an easy smile on her face.

"Richard Castle's family?"

Martha and Alexis both stand as Kate drops her head to the floor. She's not his family, but she desperately wants to stay and see him if they'll let her. Just to know that he's okay, seeing for herself that his heart still beats, would be enough to help her let him go, to walk out of his life the way she should.

Because they don't know each other.

And he doesn't love her.

"Yes, that's us," Martha says, taking a step toward the nurse.

"My name is Meg. I just wanted to let you know that he's settled in the ICU, and ready to see you briefly."

"Is he awake?" Alexis asks timidly.

"He did pull out of the anesthesia for a brief period post-surgery, but I'm afraid he fell back to sleep fairly quickly. You're welcome to see him though, if you'd like. It's ICU policy to keep any visits short to limit his exposure to infection - five to ten minutes per person per hour and, for now, we're only allowing one person at a time - but he is ready for you."

Kate looks up to find Martha and Alexis staring at each other, silently deciding who will go first, until Martha wraps her arms around Alexis' shoulders, pulling her in for a hug as she drops a kiss on her temple. "Go on, darling. He needs you."

When they break apart, a tear is trailing down Alexis' cheek, and she takes a ragged breath, nodding as she turns to follow the nurse from the room. Martha comes back to drop into the seat next to Kate, but she's just as composed as she has been since Kate first walked into this room hours ago.

She's awed by this woman, by her ability to stay so poised in the face of such horror. There hasn't been a tear or a raised voice, and that's when Kate remembers that Martha Rodgers is a successful Broadway actress. Confidence, contentment, and calmness are outward emotions she has spent years mastering, and it's clear her talents are extensive.

Kate watches the redhead from the corner of her eye, looking for a crack in her exterior for no reason other than to not feel so alone. Her heartbreak and anxiety is as conflicting as her belief that Castle couldn't have been telling the truth when he'd said he loved her, and she needs to know that she's not the only one who is affected by the situation Castle is in now.

She's surprised when Martha's hand appears over her own, the older woman wrapping her fingers around Kate's and squeezing, and when Kate looks up from their single physical connection, there are tears in Martha's eyes.

"He's going to be okay now, Katherine. He's going to be okay."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

A warm but not unpleasant weight rests against his right hand. It's the first thing he notices. The second is a dull ache throughout his entire abdomen. A sensation that doesn't throb or flare; it just remains constant as he lies there.

There…

Where is there?

Peeling one eye open, he winces and shuts it immediately, the bright lights over his head burning as though he'd been looking into the sun. The touch on his hand lifts, and then his daughter's voice sounds somewhere to his right. When did Alexis get here?

"Daddy?"

It's quiet. Her voice, that is. As though she's whispering, and that's odd because she doesn't need to whisper. Why would she be whispering?

He clears his throat, cringing at the raw quality to his vocal cords. That hurts. "Alexis, can you turn the lights off?"

Almost immediately, the fire in his eyes stops, and he attempts to part his eyelids once more. It's harder than it should be, his body so slow to respond, but finally they pop open, and little by little the darkened room comes into focus.

The room.

This isn't his room.

Is this a hospital?

"Dad, can you hear me?"

He drags his gaze to his daughter, giving his vision a moment to settle, for there to stop being five of her, before he finds his voice again.

"Hey, Alexis. What are you doing here?"

Tears spring to her eyes, dripping down her cheeks, and his eyebrows draw together. Why is she crying? Why is he in a hospital bed? Did he go to California? Wasn't she supposed to come to New York?

"What's going on?"

It's the only question he can manage to push past his dry lips and mouth. He's parched. Thirsty. Obnoxiously thirsty. Where is the water?

"Dad. Oh, Dad. I'm so glad you're okay. Are you in pain? Do I need to call a nurse?"

He shakes his head, and- Oh. That was the wrong choice. Closing his eyes against the throb, he tries to speak again.

"Fine. Water?"

"Yes. Yes. Here. It's here."

A straw touches his lips, and he draws it into his mouth, sipping the cool liquid until his throat doesn't ache so much.

"What happened, Alexis?"

"You don't remember?"

Remember? Remember what? He was… What was he doing last? No idea. Can't actually remember.

"No, I don't remember. What happened?"

She slumps into the chair, her head bowed as she takes a deep breath, and then turning her gaze back to him, hastily wiping her cheeks dry, she says three words he'd never expected to hear in his entire life.

"You've been shot."

He's confused, ridiculously confused. How the hell did he get shot? What? When?

"I've been what now?"

How?

But very specifically, why?

"Shot, Dad. Twice. In the chest. But surgery to repair the damage went well, and the doctors say they expect a full recovery."

He stares at the ceiling as she recounts the facts one by one. Shot. In the chest. No wonder everything hurts and his brain is so sluggish. These must be some good drugs that they've got coursing through his system. But full recovery sounds promising. At least there's that.

It takes a second for him to realize the room has gone silent again, and he looks back over at his daughter, taking in her black hair and bright blue eyes tinged with more red than he's seen in a very long time. She's been crying, a lot it seems, and that fact hits him like a ton of bricks.

They've grown steadily apart over the last five or six years, and every damn day he misses what they used to be, the relationship they used to have. She'd been his baby girl, his princess, his whole world, and it had been incredible.

But then something had changed. He'd changed. She'd grown up, dyed her hair, and moved out, choosing her flighty, absent mother, over him, and that had been the end of that.

Except, she's here now.

"When did you get into town?"

"Two days ago. I'm here for Gram's opening night of _Mame_." Confusion laces her words, but she's patient with him as she continues, "Dad, what's the last thing you remember?"

"I honestly don't know. I think I was walking down the street? But I don't... What day is it?"

"It's Friday. I flew in Wednesday morning."

"And I got shot?"

His brain is getting slower, the wisps of thought and memory becoming harder to grab onto. Shot. Alexis is here. Memory loss, maybe, although how much remains to be seen. Her palm slides against his cheek, a quick kiss against the other, and he slips further into sleep.

The soft tones of her voice are the last things he hears before the blackness takes over again.

"Sleep, Dad. I love you."

* * *

><p>An hour has passed since Alexis had come back into the waiting room to trade places with her grandmother, hope and elation coursing off her in waves as she'd shared the happy news of another brief period of Castle being awake. Martha's own visit with him had been decidedly less exciting, seeing as he'd slept through the whole thing, but the matriarch had still returned with her own mood lifted.<p>

And now Kate finds herself glued to the tile floor outside his room, staring through the window as she studies his still form. He's still asleep, his face tilted toward the door, features relaxed, and if she didn't know better, wasn't standing in this white, sterile hallway, she might almost believe that he's just taking a nap.

But she does know better.

And if she looks hard enough, she can see the tubes trailing out from under his hospital gown, the fluids that are being pumped from his lungs to aide in the healing process traveling steadily through each transparent line. She can hear the steady beat of his heart monitor, see the drip of his IV delivering necessary saline and pain medication, the puffy skin on his face, and the dark circles under his eyes.

It's not just a nap. Not just a time to close his eyes and rest his head.

"You can go in, you know."

Tearing her gaze away from him, Kate turns to her left to find the nurse - Meg - standing there, a sympathetic but encouraging smile on her face.

"I know," Kate says, clenching and unclenching her fists to gather up the courage to actually push through the door, to step foot into his personal space once more.

"It's hard when they look like that. Covered in tubes and swollen from all the damage and surgery. But he's going to survive. He will recover. This part is only temporary."

Nodding, Kate looks back through the window, studying the planes and valleys of his face, the flop of dark hair over his forehead, and the brush of his lashes against his cheeks. He really is a beautiful man.

"I know."

She reaches for the door handle, squeezing the cool metal as she pushes the door open, and, stepping through, she shuts it behind her, allowing the cocoon of the room to envelop her, locking the rest of the world away.

It's peaceful. Standing near to him after feeling so disconnected all day, since the moment the ambulance had driven away, crumbles the anxiety that's been on her shoulders, the relief and physical evidence easing the tension in her muscles.

He's safe now.

He's going to be okay.

And she has to cover her mouth to contain the sob of joy that is bubbling up her throat. Tears blur her vision, but she blinks them away, swallowing them down as she takes the necessary steps to his bedside. There's no need for more tears. Not anymore.

She's here. He's here. And that's all that matters.

Sitting into the chair that's been pulled up next to him, she tentatively reaches for his hand, pausing once to shoot her gaze back up to his face, wondering if she has the right to touch him. If she should or shouldn't.

She doesn't know him, hasn't earned the physical breach, but the need to hold his hand, to feel the warmth of his skin cradled in her own is too much and she reaches for him anyway.

His hand is large against her small ones, his fingers thick and strong, nails trimmed and neat. He's a writer, typing away at a keyboard all the time so of course he keeps his nails under control, but the feel of him, the weight of him is so right that it takes her breath away. She traces each of his fingers with her own, laying her palm flat against his when he twitches.

"Hi."

She startles at the gruff sound of his voice, pulling her hands from his and tucking them under her thighs as she looks up. Her fingertips tingle with the loss of him, but she ignores it, clearing her throat before she speaks.

"Hi, Mr. Castle. How… How are you feeling?"

His eyes are so blue, the color rich and warm, and she struggles against it, against him and the way he makes her heart beat faster with nothing more than a look. Who is this man and where the hell did he come from?

"Like I got shot."

The laugh that forces its way out is accidental, and her eyes widen at her own insensitivity. Good job, Kate. Really knocking it out of the park with this one.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean…"

"It's fine."

He smiles, but doesn't say anything more. She doesn't either, but she can't look away when his focus remains on her. His eyes roam over her face, and she lets it happen, lets him look because she can't find the will to stop him. Doesn't want him to stop.

"I'm glad you're okay. I was…worried."

"Thanks."

He's quiet again, unmoving in his half-reclined hospital bed except for the gentle expanding and contracting of his chest as he breathes, and that's when she realizes, when the truth sets in, when her heart stops not for the first time today.

It shouldn't hurt like this. It shouldn't crack her open and steal her ability to take in air, but it does anyway.

She knows the answer already, can see it in his eyes, in the lack of emotion, the lack of connection. She knows, but she has to ask.

"Mr. Castle, do you remember what happened? Do you remember…"

_Do you remember me?_

His eyes dip closed like he's trying to think, trying to sort through his memories, but when they open again, there is no clarity, no recognition.

"No. Alexis said it's Friday? The last thing I remember is Wednesday."

She nods, letting the disappointment sit heavy in her gut for a moment before she pushes it to the side. It's better this way, easier to walk away like she'd intended.

"Can I ask…" He pauses, his eyebrows furrowed, and she waits, giving him the chance to sort out his question. "As much as I love waking up to find a gorgeous woman at my bedside, holding my hand… I'm sorry, but who are you?"

And there it is. He's gone. That man from yesterday, the one digging his way under her skin, taking a sledgehammer to the walls around her heart and mind, is lost, and the confirmation leaves her reeling. It shouldn't, but it does.

She finally drops her gaze, closing her eyes and shaking her head. Time to get it together, to do this the way she's supposed to, and she gathers herself before looking back at him. He's waiting, just continuing to study her, and she pulls strength from the unfamiliarity written into the lines of his face, the small curve of his lips.

"Captain Kate Beckett, NYPD. It's nice to meet you, Mr. Castle. Again."

"Captain? You're a cop?"

"I am."

"Wow. Sexy."

His whole being lights up with that knowledge, and she has to fight the urge to roll her eyes as he continues.

"So, how do we know each other then?"

"It's…"

She huffs, unsure of how much more consciousness he's got left and how much detail she wants to get into right now. Or ever, for that matter. If he doesn't remember then she probably shouldn't mention all the things he's said to her over the last two days, everything he's made her feel. Stick to the basics. That's what's best. That's what'll get her out of this in the least painful way so she can get back to her life and leave him to his.

"You've been helping a pair of my detectives on a case, and you were shot during the final takedown of the suspects. I'm so sorry, Mr. Castle. I never intended to put you in harm's way like this."

"Hmm."

He rests his head back against his pillow, face pointed toward the ceiling, and closes his eyes. Her fingers itch to reach out, to trace through the hair on his forehead, pushing it out of the way, but she can't do it. She can't give into the urge to touch him again. Not now. Not ever.

Walking away before he falls asleep is the only way, the only choice she has left.

"I wish you well in your recovery, Mr. Castle, but I have to go now."

His eyes blink open, his gaze hazy and unfocused as he nods.

"Goodbye, Kate."

And then he's out, breathing slow and steady, body limp in the bed. But she stays in the chair, her feet choosing now to ignore the commands to move coming from her brain, and she counts his heartbeats one by one until a gentle knock on the door breaks her trance.

"I'm sorry, Captain, but your time is up," Meg says, her voice leaving no room for negotiation.

Standing, Kate takes one last look at him, committing him to memory.

"Goodbye, Mr. Castle."

She whispers the words, releasing them and him into the universe. She won't see him again. Won't feel the heat of his gaze on her, won't hear his voice as he says the three words she knows she won't ever be whole enough to deserve, words that were never meant for her.

She'll miss him. That's a fact. But missing people is nothing new, nothing she can't handle, so she turns her back on him, on the possibility of what could have been, and follows Meg from the room.

The door clicking shut behind her knocks the last of her loose bricks back into place. Those he'd beaten and battered without lifting a hand over the last two days, forcing her to feel the sunlight for the first time in years, and now she's crawling back into the darkness, settling behind her walls in the only way she knows how.

She's surviving, just like he will.


	4. Chapter 4

_Four months later_

"Richard, really. You can't sit here moping for the rest of your life. You need to come back to the city and get back to writing. You're a grown man. Time to start acting like it."

Rolling his eyes, Rick sinks further into the oversized armchair of the Hamptons living room, swirling the scotch around the glass in his right hand. His eyes remain glued to the waves crashing along the beach as his mother paces and lectures behind him. It's nothing he hasn't heard before, and nothing he's interested in hearing again.

But that doesn't stop her. Never has, and apparently it never will.

He was shot. Shot with two bullets, one of which had collapsed his left lung, and both of which had put him in grueling physical therapy for the past three and a half months. He's healing out here. He's not hiding.

His daughter is back in California, his mother continues to take the Broadway stage by storm, and he's…here. Not writing. Not being fawned over by inappropriately aged young women. Not doing anything.

God, he's depressing. Depressed. It's entirely possible that he's depressed.

"Richard, are you even listening to me?"

He sighs, rubbing his temple with his left hand as she comes around and plops into the armchair next to him. The soft weight of her hand on his bicep forces his gaze to hers, and he's surprised by what he sees there. His mother is not one to show emotion, not true emotion anyway, but her eyes are misty, concern and a bit of fear clearly evident in the pinch of her lips and the furrow of her brow.

"I'm worried about you, darling. I don't like how much time you've spent out here alone."

"Mother…"

He pauses because he doesn't know what to say exactly. She's probably right. He has spent too much time out here alone. But then, what else is there? Where else? Here in his mother's beach house, or the city, in a loft that used to be his but is now his mother's as well? What kind of life is that?

"Have you spoken to Katherine again?"

"What?"

He's taken completely by surprise with her question. Katherine Beckett. No doubt, she's who his mother is referring to. He's heard the story enough times to know her name, and he's googled her enough to know the basic facts. But what he can't figure out is the rest of it, the details. Why would he have searched her out? Why did he step in front of a bullet for her?

Why was he involved in an NYPD case to begin with?

"No, Mother."

The silence he's greeted with is the same she's given every time he's answered this question. It's disappointment, disapproval, displeasure, but he can't understand why she keeps pushing. He didn't know Captain Beckett before getting shot, and he has no reason to know her now, despite what his mother seems to think.

"Look. I know you mean well, but I'm not ready to come back to the city yet. I was shot. Do you remember that?" He ignores her scoff, needing to get his point across. "I'll come back when I'm ready. I'll get back to writing when I'm ready. But until then? Please, just let it be."

Relaxing into the seat again and turning his attention back to the shoreline, he takes a healthy swig of his scotch, wincing at the burn in his throat. The pain feels good, right, reminds him that he's alive. Probably not good long term, but it's good enough for now, and that's all that matters.

"When do you finish your physical therapy?"

He sets his glass on the floor and drops his head into his hands, groaning deep and rough. "Mother."

"Richard Castle, don't you 'Mother' me. I'm only asking a simple question."

Peeking at her from between his fingers, he tries to read her expression. It's clear, relaxed, but it's not fooling him. He could lie, tell her he still has a month or two just to get her to back off, to buy himself more time.

He could.

But, of course, he can't. He won't. Because the fact of the matter is she's seen how much progress he's made. The wounds are healed, the pain almost completely gone. His muscles are strong, his lungs working at their full capacity again. He's better. Back to normal, and the truth is, he doesn't need physical therapy anymore.

"My last session is scheduled for next week."

She nods, her lips pursed as she seems to absorb this information, and he turns his attention back to the ocean. A storm is beginning to roll in, the sky darkening little by little, the surge of the waves becoming more violent the longer he watches.

Questions he doesn't want to face, doesn't want to answer begin to swirl through his mind. How did he get here?

And how does he find his way back?

* * *

><p>She almost drops her full cup of coffee when the phone rings, the shrill noise shattering the silence of her office. Managing to keep her grip without spilling more than a few drops over the side, she grabs for the offending device, removing the phone from its cradle and bringing it to her ear.<p>

"Beckett."

"Yes, Ma'am. This is Officer Torres at the front entrance. You have a visitor requesting to be let through."

"Who is it?"

"Woman by the name of Martha Rodgers."

Kate actually does drop her mug this time, wincing when the hot liquid splashes over her black pumps, the initial burn receding as the coffee cools. And these were her favorite shoes too.

"Ma'am?"

"Uhh…" She looks out her window, observing the hustle and bustle of the bullpen, and then spots her best detectives both hunched over their desks. Not willing to share this new development with them quite yet, she makes a snap decision. "No, keep her there. I'll be right down."

"Very good."

Torres hangs up, and the dial tone echoes through Kate's office before she slams her phone back down as well. She stands and spins in an aimless circle as her brain tries to keep up with her body.

Towel. She needs a towel to clean up the mess. Grabbing her gym bag full of dirty clothes from this morning's sparring session and work out, she pulls a used hand towel from among the other articles of clothing, wrinkling her nose at the stink before she covers the puddle, allowing the material to soak it all up.

She dries the floor and stuffs the towel back in her bag, not bothering to worry about just how terrible it's going to smell tonight when she gets home, and then slips her ruined shoes from her feet, shoving them into the bag as well. She grabs a backup pair from her bottom desk drawer, along with her purse and then taps the keyboard a few times to lock her computer.

Shrugging into her coat, she steps from her office into the noisy bullpen, locking the door behind her and making a beeline for the closest elevator.

"Come on, come on," she whispers, willing the doors to part before someone notices that she's leaving.

"Hey, Captain."

But today must not be her lucky day.

Turning from the elevator, she catches sight of Esposito skidding around the half wall separating the hallway from the collection of desks, heading straight for her.

"Where you goin'?"

She levels him with a glare that makes it clear she has no intention of telling him because it's none of his business, but he ignores it completely, much to her annoyance.

"Got a hot date?"

Rolling her eyes, she huffs. Ever since Castle had breezed into this place, upset everything, and then disappeared just as fast as he'd come, Espo has been trying to get her to go out, to meet someone new, and it's grating on her nerves.

She doesn't need help meeting people, doesn't need to be pushed to find male companionship, because she's perfectly capable of handling it on her own. When she wants to. It's not her fault every guy she's met recently has been obnoxious and annoying. It's not her fault that none of them hold any appeal or show any potential to last past a couple of drinks.

It's not her fault she still sees blue eyes and dark hair, broad shoulders and a perfectly shaped ass when she dreams at night.

But that's not the point.

"Did you need something, Esposito?"

He deflates under her question, his face falling as he shakes his head. "No, I'm good. Ryan and I are still combing through financials for the Webster case."

"Good. Then get back to work."

"Yes, Captain." Like a chastised puppy, he scurries back to his desk, shaking his head at his partner as he drops into his chair, and she groans when she realizes the elevator still hasn't arrived. Seriously?

Growing impatient, she turns for the stairs instead. She needs to move, needs to not be standing still when there are so many questions racing through her mind. Why is Martha here? Why now? What has happened?

It's been four months and she hasn't heard a single peep from any of them. No phone call, no email, not even a freaking carrier pigeon to tell her that Castle has recovered and is doing well. What the hell could Martha want with her now?

Kate bursts through the stairwell door, taking the steps two at a time as she races toward the ground floor, the sudden need for answers pushing her faster and faster until she reaches the lobby. Martha's voice echoes around the large, open space, the tinkle of her laugh bouncing off the tiled floor, and Kate spots her over by the metal detectors, flirting with one of the desk sergeants.

Her fiery red hair is curled to perfection, her dress bright and flowing around her body as she moves. Pausing in the shadow of the stairwell door, Kate takes a deep breath. Is she ready for this? She's spent the last four months trying to forget him, to get his smile out of her head, his voice out of her mind. Does she really want to be thrust back into his world? Even if it's just a connection with Martha?

As though Martha had been able to sense her presence, clear blue eyes suddenly land on Kate, and she watches as a genuine smile appears on the older woman's face. It's time, whether she's ready for it or not. Whether she wants it or not.

"Katherine, darling," Martha says as she waves.

Kate strides over to her, keeping her head held high and her face clear, as she tries to project an air of confidence.

"Hello, Ms. Rodgers."

She sticks her hand out, but is surprised when Martha's delicate fingers grip both of her shoulders and the woman leans in to kiss her cheek.

"Aren't you a sight for sore eyes? And please, it's Martha. I think we've been through enough to consider first names appropriate, yes?"

Suddenly uncomfortable under Martha's penetrating gaze, Kate dips her head, tucking a nonexistent strand of loose hair behind her ear. She swallows down her childish reaction, meeting Martha's eyes again and nodding.

"Yes, of course. Martha. What can I do for you?"

The question seems to throw the woman, but it's only for a moment before her natural composure returns and that smile crosses her face again. Martha steps up beside her, twining a strong arm into Kate's while patting her hand.

"I thought we might be able to get a coffee. We need to talk."

* * *

><p>They walk in silence to a coffee shop three blocks down from the precinct. Martha holds her head high, her shoulders back, and Kate matches her, keeping her strides long and sure. Neither speaks as they navigate through the never-ending pedestrian traffic, but Kate's comfortable with that. She'd rather have this conversation sitting down anyway.<p>

Entering the shop, they take turns ordering, and then settle at a circular table set in a secluded corner. Kate cups both hands around the white ceramic mug, reveling in the warmth of her latte as she waits for her mind to settle on what to ask first, or for Martha to speak. She isn't sure which is more desirable at this point.

"So, Katherine. How have you been?"

Martha's blue eyes settle on Kate, penetrating in their clarity and knowledge, as though she can read her without any effort at all. It's unsettling, and Kate shifts in her seat, trying to decide how best to answer.

How has she been? Fine.

She's always fine. But fine isn't good. Fine isn't happy. Fine is normal, is expected, but it's not what other people want to hear.

"Busy, as always. We put one person away and there's always another waiting to take their place."

"Mmm."

Nodding, Martha sips her coffee, and Kate follows suit. The latte warms her from the inside out and she closes her eyes in pleasure. Nothing better than a well made cup of coffee.

"And outside of the precinct? I'm sure there's more to you than being a cop."

Startled, Kate shoots her gaze back to Martha's, grinning when she sees the sparkle in the older woman's eyes. She can't stop the quiet chuckle from escaping, and finds Martha's teasing is exactly what she needs to relax. There's something about this woman, something about her personality that releases the tension in Kate's shoulders, that makes her feel safe and comfortable. It's an odd sensation that she hasn't felt in years. Not since… Well. Not in a long time.

"I work a lot, but I've been well. What about you? And Alexis?"

_And Castle?_

The question hangs between them. Unspoken but not unheard.

"The same. I've been busy with the theater of course. Alexis went back to her life in California when Richard left for the Hamptons. She's well. Working hard." Martha pauses, shifting her gaze to the window for a moment before meeting Kate's eyes again. "And Richard is doing very well. In case you were wondering."

Kate feels the heat rise in her cheeks and ducks her head, taking a sip of her coffee to hide her reaction. She startles, shifting her eyesight back up when Martha's hand lands over her own.

"I think it might be good for you two to see each other."

"What? Why do you say that?"

Martha shrugs, leaning back in her chair. "Call it a mother's intuition. And a woman's."

"Martha-"

"Katherine, I'm not blind. I can see that you're concerned about him. I'm also not senile. When you were around those few days, my son was a different person. And since then? Since you've been apart? He's disappeared again."

Rubbing her forehead, Kate sighs. This isn't how this was supposed to go.

"I don't know what you want me to do here. He came to me remember? I didn't do anything back then and I can't do anything for him now."

"I just want you to see him. Talk to him. I think it would be good for you both. He has a lot of questions about those days, things he doesn't remember. Why he was there with you? How he found you in the first place? You're the only one who can give him the answers."

"I don't have the answers. I don't know why he came to me either."

Leaning forward, Martha reaches across the table for Kate's hands again, squeezing with a force that she doesn't expect. But the physical contact grounds her, keeps her steady as she tries to make sense of what Martha is asking for.

To see him.

She wants to. Despite her brain's objections, her mind's unhelpful whisperings of _He doesn't remember you _and _Nothing good ever comes from letting someone in_, she still wants to throw caution to the wind and meet him for a coffee. Just to look into his eyes again, to hear his voice, and see for herself that he really is alive.

"I'm just asking you for one meet. A phone call, a coffee, a drink, dinner. It doesn't matter. Just a chance to see what happens. Please, Kate."

"And what happens when I can't give him what he wants?"

"Then that's it. You're free to go back to your life and you won't hear from us again."

That statement hits harder than it should, but Kate shakes her head, unwilling to analyze what that means right now. One conversation. That's it. She can do one.

"Okay."


	5. Chapter 5

_Chapter Five_

She's being ridiculous.

Completely, utterly ridiculous.

It's just a phone number.

She's dialed phone numbers a million times. Talked to customer service representatives, judges, other cops, family members, restaurants to order take out. This is just one more to add to the list.

Doesn't matter who's on the other end of the line. Doesn't matter that it'll be the first time she's talked to him in months.

Or, it shouldn't matter because she's a grown up, and she chases down killers for a living.

It shouldn't matter.

But it does.

Pacing her living room floor, she eyeballs the unsuspecting piece of paper lying on her kitchen table. It's just a small sheet of white, no more than four square inches, but she's never been so intimidated in her life. What will he say? What will she say? Will he even answer? What if he doesn't? Does she leave a message or just hang up or ask him to call back? And then, what if he doesn't answer and she leaves a message and he never calls back?

She pauses mid stride, turning to face her table and that damn phone number. Ten digits. That's it. Ten stupid digits, a couple of rings, and then it'll be over. She'll know for sure.

She can do this.

As she goes to take her first step, her phone begins to buzz on top of the table's surface, the ring tone breaking the silence in her apartment, and she freezes in place.

No freaking way.

With one determined stride after another, she stops next to the table, reaching for the device to check the caller ID. Same number. The piece of paper and the phone show the same number.

It's him.

* * *

><p>He's walked past it every morning since his mother left. Three days now. Three morning runs on the beach per his physical therapist's instructions, and it still sits there, untouched. The notebook lies open; ten numbers beneath one four-letter name, all written in his mother's neat penmanship, offering a stark contrast to the crisp white page.<p>

This morning though, he pauses on his way out the door. There's no reason for the change in his routine, and nothing to explain the desire he has to look closer. It's sudden, hitting him from left field, and he reaches for the house phone, not bothering to think past dialing those numbers.

He leans against the counter as he listens to the line connect, each ring echoing in his ear until she finally picks up.

"Beckett."

"Really? That's how you answer your phone?"

"Sorry. Force of habit."

"Oh. Right. The cop thing. This is Rick Castle, by the way."

She huffs and he finds his lips stretching into a small smile without his permission. He tries to picture her face, imagine what she may look like right now, but his memory of her is so foggy. Just that one encounter at the hospital, a ridiculous amount of narcotics floating through his bloodstream, and it's impossible to remember anything specific.

"Yeah. I know. How are you?"

"Uhh…"

Looking down his body, he takes stock of what's there. An orange sweatshirt sits over his grey t-shirt, navy blue shorts hang from his hips, and running shoes adorn his feet. The shoes are in terrible shape. Sand has been lodged in every crevice since he'd started these daily workouts, turning the bright white dull and dirty.

But underneath all that, he's strong. Stronger than he'd been before he was shot, which is actually pretty embarrassing now he thinks about it. He's really let himself go the last few years, but, shaking that thought from his mind, he refocuses on her question. He's…

"Good. I'm… I'm great actually."

"Good," she echoes. "I'm glad to hear it."

The line falls silent after that, and he isn't sure what to say next. Or why he called in the first place. Except it's… strangely nice having someone to talk to. Someone who isn't his well-meaning, but nagging mother, or his sweet, but absent daughter, or his obnoxious publisher. Or anyone from his regular life who has all these expectations he can't seem to meet anymore.

The idea of her. Of Kate. Of a friend. It's nice, and in that moment he makes a split second decision.

"I'll be back in the city this weekend. Maybe-"

"Yes?"

His eyebrows furrow at her interruption. Perhaps he's imagining the breathlessness to her voice, the anticipation laced around that single syllable, but she falls silent again before he can be sure.

Shaking his head, he continues, "Maybe we could meet up. Grab a coffee. You free on Saturday around ten-thirty?"

"Yes."

"Okay. I can swing by your place, and we can walk somewhere?"

"Uhh… Yeah, okay. I'll send you my address Saturday morning. Is this phone number-?"

"No. No, this is the house phone. I'll text you so you have my cell."

"Okay."

"Okay."

He pauses again, not quite ready to hang up but also out of things to plan, and then she decides for him.

"So I'll see you Saturday."

"It's a date. I look forward to it, Captain Beckett."

"Please, it's Kate."

"Then call me Rick. Formal titles are overrated anyway."

Her muffled laugh floats through the phone and his lips stretch into a smile. He's made her laugh. It's been a while since he's been able to do that for someone and it feels surprisingly good.

"I'll see you Saturday, Rick."

"Goodbye, Kate."

He hangs up the phone, that stupid grin still lifting his lips, and turns for the back doors. The sun is shining already, the sky clear and blue as far as he can see. It's cold, but it's a good day for a run.

Hell, it's just a good day.

* * *

><p>It's ten twenty. Ten minutes left.<p>

She'd been up early, antsy and desperate for some sort of physical release. After an eight mile run through the city, she'd come back and jumped in the shower, letting the burning water beat the tension from her shoulders, the knots from her stomach.

Now she's dressed and fidgeting. Nothing to do but wait. The dishes are clean, the apartment picked up, laundry put away. No emails to check. No plants to water.

She collapses onto the couch, blowing out a frustrated breath. Why is she acting like this? She feels like a teenager going on her first date instead of a grown woman about to have coffee. Confidence has never been an issue, but this man, Rick Castle, shakes her to the very core for absolutely no reason.

And it's annoying.

Three quick raps on the door break her from her thoughts, and she checks her watch again. Ten twenty-five. Well, at least he's punctual.

Peering through the peephole, she's startled by his appearance. He hadn't been lying when he'd told her he was great. He looks amazing. Chiseled and freshly shaved jaw, broad shoulders hidden beneath a well fitting coat, and under his collared shirt she can almost make out his waistline. It's trimmer than she remembers, but not bad. Definitely not in a bad way.

She swings the door open, letting a smile grace her lips when her eyes lock with his.

"Hey."

"Hey."

He doesn't say anything more, just stands there and stares, and she tucks her loose curls behind her ear.

"Did you want to come in for a second while I get my coat?"

That seems to break him from his trance, his head shaking slightly as he shifts into her doorway.

"Sorry. Yeah."

When he steps into the apartment, he immediately starts to look around, moving into her living room without hesitation. She watches him, studies his actions, the fluidity of his upper body as he leans forward to look at a row of books on her bookshelf. If she didn't know better, she wouldn't believe he'd been shot four months ago.

"You like to read?" he asks as he trails a finger over the spines of her favorite novels. The ones in English and those in Russian have mixed together on the shelf since she's never managed to shake her love of the language she'd learned in college. He taps on her copy of _Anna Karenina_ before turning to face her, his eyes twinkling with this new found knowledge. "You like to read in Russian."

It's a statement and she feels her cheeks flush. He sounds…impressed, surprised, and she likes that. Likes it a lot.

"I do."

Pulling her coat up over her shoulders, she tugs her hair from beneath the collar, and grabs her phone and keys.

"You ready?"

"Yeah," he says as he passes by her again, walking into the hallway to wait while she shuts the door.

Here goes nothing.

* * *

><p>He settles across from her in the corner of a busy café a few blocks from her building, placing her vanilla latte within her reach while sipping from his own cappuccino. The table she's chosen is round and small, placing them closer together than he'd expected, close enough for their knees to knock underneath, but he doesn't mind.<p>

She's gorgeous and she smells amazing, and he doesn't mind being close to her at all.

There's still no recollection of her, no spark of remembrance from before that day in the hospital no matter how many times his mother has told him otherwise, but being here feels nice. Sitting with her while she wraps her fingers around the warmth of her mug, while she breathes in the scent of vanilla and roasted beans, while her eyes flutter closed only to open again and lock on his, is a little intoxicating if he's being honest.

"So…"

He drags out the o, finding that he'd spoken before his brain had fully formed a question, but she smiles at him, a tease in the raised corners of her lips.

"So… How have you been?"

The question is lighthearted and easy but there's a tension in her that surprises him. She hides it well - he never would have known had he not been looking so closely - but it's there, in the slight pinch of her brows, the whites of her knuckles. Has she been worried about him?

And how deep is he willing to dig right now? How much is he willing to reveal to a woman he hardly knows? Not much apparently because he plasters on a smile and relies on his charm to distract her from the truths that he's begun to loathe about himself.

"I've been great. Spent a lot of time at the beach house and just got back into town two days ago. It's nice to be home."

She nods, twisting her half-consumed coffee around in a circle as she listens, and he drinks from his own mug, savoring the bitter flavor and the burn on his tongue. He wants to ask… so many things he's wondered since waking up from surgery that day, and he has to know. Has to hear the story. The details. The whys.

"Can I ask you something?"

A small dose of apprehension crosses her face, but she shrugs. "Sure."

"How did we meet? The first time, I mean. Not in the hospital but before that. Why were you there?"

"Umm. I don't really know why. Or how you ended up in my precinct in the first place-" she pauses, tucking a nonexistent lock of hair behind her ear, and he stays silent, waiting for her. "How much did your family tell you?"

"That if I wanted answers to my questions, I had to start with you. Mother said I was suddenly talking about you all the time, and then I was working with you. And then I got shot..."

Wincing, she drops her gaze to the table.

"Yeah. Sorry about that. I didn't- It wasn't supposed to happen that way. I should have been able to protect you better."

"It's fine."

She scoffs when she looks up at him, and he rethinks what he's just said.

"Okay, maybe fine isn't the right word. But it is what it is. Can't change it now."

"Yeah, I guess."

"So, can you tell me about those few days leading up to the shooting? I can't remember any of it."

Clearing her throat, she readjusts in her seat and takes another sip of her coffee. She's stalling perhaps, although he's not sure why, and he wants her to get on with it. He's antsy, fingers twisting in his lap as he waits for her.

"You just showed up one day. Walked straight up to a murder board and started talking to two of my detectives about their case, claiming I was in trouble, that we'd been ambushed. You knew things you shouldn't have known."

"Like what?"

"Like… everything. Details of the crime scene, leads that they were just beginning to flesh out. And you kept talking to me like you knew me already. But we'd never met. The things you claimed - how we'd met, where, when - none of it was true, but you were so sure. I still don't really understand it myself."

"But. How is that possible?"

Shrugging, her eyebrows furrow. "It's not. Your guess is as good as mine."

"Wait. Did you say 'we'd been ambushed'? Like you and me?"

"Mmmhmm," she hums, and he's momentarily distracted by the noise. It's sexy in a way he's sure she didn't mean, but he likes it. Wants to hear it again. "Part of your story was that you and I were partners."

"But I'm a writer."

"Yeah. You said you were a civilian consultant. That we'd met six years ago over a case and you'd just kept coming back, working with my team and me to solve cases. And that's why you'd been at the crime scene and knew all the details."

"But I wasn't at the crime scene."

She smiles and a small laugh escapes, but he doesn't get it, can't laugh with her because none of this makes any sense. Unless…

"Did I give you a reason for this story? What was my explanation when you told me I had it all wrong?"

He must have hit the nail on the head with that because her smile drops away, her face becoming serious as she studies him. He can practically see the wheels turning in her head, and that's when he knows.

There had been a reason.

Something unbelievable that only he'd be able to come up with. Time travel, a parallel universe, a dream. It's the only way the story makes sense, the only thing that explains how he'd known her and known the case, why he'd gone to her in the first place.

"You sure you want to hear this?"

"Yes."

He'd be embarrassed by the breathless way he answers her, the desperation he knows he's failing to hide from her, but it's there on the tip of her tongue and he finds that he doesn't care if she knows how badly he needs these answers.

"You said you'd come from an alternate universe. One tiny difference in both of our paths - solving that first case together - and everything had changed."

"And you believed me."

She startles at that, her eyes blazing with denial when she looks at him, but it's true. It's written all over her face. It's the only reason why she came to the hospital, why she's here now.

"You did, didn't you? That's why you agreed to see me. How did I convince you?"

"I…"

Her mouth opens and closes, words dying before they can come all the way out until the sound of her cell phone shocks them both out of their bubble. She fumbles with the device and their moment is well and truly broken when she finally answers it.

"Beckett."

He watches her face as she listens to whoever is on the other end. She's gone from Kate, the woman who'd believed in the unbelievable, to Captain Beckett, the cop in seconds and it's fascinating to witness.

She's fascinating.

And for the first time in years, he feels alive.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

"Alright, Ryan. Let me know when you have him in custody."

"Yes, Captain."

Hanging up the phone, she takes a deep breath. Perfect timing as always, Ryan. She still doesn't know how to answer Rick's question. How did he convince her? By sticking around, by pushing her, by burrowing in and being obnoxious.

But he doesn't. Not anymore. Clearly, that man is gone, and she hates how disappointed the truth of it makes her feel. Reconciling _that_ Castle with this one is impossible, the differences harsh and striking, and she's unable to decide where they go from here.

"Everything okay?" he asks, drawing her attention away from her phone and out of the melancholy hole she's begun to fall into.

"Yeah, sorry. Just a big case and I asked my detectives to keep me informed of developments."

"Do you need to…"

He points his thumb toward the café's door, his eyebrows raised as he silently finishes the question, and she hesitates. Does she want to leave? Espo and Ryan are fine without her, but how long is she willing to sit here being reminded of what she's lost? Of what she didn't even have in the first place?

He's patient with her, his eyes kind and relaxed, and she chews on the inside of her cheek. Maybe it's time to let the other Castle go. Maybe it's time she remembers that _that_ man didn't belong with her.

They've both finished their coffees, the sun is shining, the city peaceful, and she answers him with a shake of her head.

"Want to go for a walk?"

Rick drops his arm to his lap, surprise coating his face, but then he smiles and nods, and she curls her lips into a small grin. He may not be the same, but that doesn't mean he can't still be good for her. It's only a first date, after all.

* * *

><p>They stroll along the city sidewalk, weaving in and out of the other pedestrian traffic in silence. He keeps glancing over at her, peeking to the side every minute or so, and she wonders what he's thinking, what he sees when he looks at her, if he's having a hard time accepting the reality of her after so many months of expectations. If he even had expectations in the first place.<p>

"So tell me how you learned Russian?"

She stumbles at his question, grabbing his arm to steady herself as she looks up at him.

"Kate, are you okay?"

"Yeah. Sorry. Just surprised me." Untangling herself from his grip, because somehow his right hand is tucked under her coat, sitting just above her hip, she takes a step forward, trying to ignore the phantom burn of his palm.

He catches up, falling into step beside her and she watches him from her peripheral. His hands are in fists by his sides, his eyes trained straight ahead, and they settle back into a matching pace.

"I did a semester in Kiev. Fell in love with the culture, the people. I read to keep the language and because Russian novels should always be read in Russian. The way they were intended to be read."

"Wow. Will you say something?"

Laughing, she looks over at him, happy to find that he's relaxed again, and the tension drains from her own shoulders.

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Anything."

"Мне бы хотелось узнать о тебе побольше."

It takes her a second to realize he's no longer walking next to her, and she pauses, turning to see what's happened to him. He's about five feet back, frozen in place, with his mouth hanging open, and she has to laugh at him, at the ridiculous picture he makes.

"Come on, Castle. It's not that impressive."

Running to catch up, he laughs. "What are you talking about? You clearly have no idea how sexy that is. What does it mean?"

"Hmm. Maybe I'll tell you someday."

Ducking her head, she tries to hide her blush from him, and thankfully he seems to let it go. It's really not that amazing. Just another language in a sea of languages to learn, but she's proud of it. Of how much work it took to learn, how much work it's taken to hang on to. She's proud and she's glad to know that the benefits extend beyond her own pleasure.

"Wait. Did you just call me Castle?"

"Ha. I guess I did. Old habits die hard as they say."

"They do say that." His teeth flash through his grin. "Castle. No one's ever called me that before. Say it again."

She rolls her eyes at him, but indulges his request anyway. "Castle."

"Hmm. I like it. And that makes you Beckett. I like that too."

Beckett. It's a name she's gone by for too long, but the syllables are different when he says it, the gruff baritone of his voice cracking on the K and the pair of Ts. She shivers and the feel of his touch on her side flares again, making her feel unbalanced and restless.

Confused, she tries to shake it off and pay attention to their conversation. "Is there anything you don't like?"

He's quiet as he thinks, his eyebrows drawn together, seriously considering her question.

"Any boy that my daughter brings around."

"Of course. Must be a dad thing. Mine hasn't liked any of my boyfriends either."

He nods, contemplative and withdrawn. "I used to take great pleasure in hazing any potentials, but with Alexis living in California… Well, I just don't get the opportunity anymore."

She reaches over and grips his coat sleeve, halting their progress on the sidewalk and causing a collision with the couple behind them.

"Sorry," she directs to them while she pushes Castle toward the building on their right, getting them out of the flow of foot traffic. He goes without complaint, tripping over himself as he turns around, but the question burns in his eyes. What is she doing?

"I'm sorry, Castle. About Alexis."

"It's not your fault, Kate."

His back bumps against the building's brick wall, his hands stationary at his side, and she still holds his sleeve, her knuckles blanched with the force of her grip.

"I know. I know, but-" She looks away, wondering why she wants so badly to do this, to say the right thing, to ease the pain and bitterness that comes with where Alexis has chosen to live. "She loves you, you know? She didn't leave to hurt you."

"Kate."

"She didn't leave to hurt you."

His eyebrows draw together when he meets her gaze, and she stands her ground. That broken little girl hiding in a grown woman's body who Kate met that day in the hospital deserves this.

"How can you possibly know that?"

"Because I know heartache and I know abandonment. The girl I saw in the hospital, the one who was facing the very real possibility of her father's sudden death… The one wishing desperately for a miracle. That girl didn't leave because she wanted away from you. She loves you, Castle."

He pulls from her grip, stalking away from her without saying a word, and for a moment Kate is blindsided by his abrupt escape. His hands are shoved deep in his pockets, his shoulders hunched up around his ears, and he never turns back - not once - to see if she's following him.

Shit.

* * *

><p>He's fuming. Raging.<p>

Looking to punch something.

Or run.

He needs to run. Pounding the pavement, the force reverberating through his limbs, knocking his anger free until exhaustion makes him collapse, to forget everything except the staccato of his heart and the rapid pace of his lungs.

Until he can get Kate's words out of his head. What does she know about his daughter? And who the hell does she think she is? Waltzing into his life, flipping everything upside down. Even turning his own mother against him. And now his damn daughter too.

He growls and makes the next right, searching the traffic for a taxi. A million taxis in this whole city and the one time he actually needs one, the roads are free of that obnoxious bright yellow.

Damn it.

Subway. He'll take the subway.

Pausing to get his bearings and figure out what street he's actually on, he turns in a small circle, and that's when he sees her twenty feet back, speed walking with her sights set on him. Her eyes widen when she realizes he's looking at her, but her steps don't falter or slow.

Breaking her gaze, he spots a strangely convenient subway entrance across the street, and he takes off, ignoring the honks from angry drivers as he cuts through the traffic.

"Castle, stop!"

But he won't. He's not interested in more of her observations about his parenting failures. She's had a day, maybe, to get to know his daughter, to get to know him, and she thinks she's some sort of expert? Hell no. He doesn't need this.

He rips his wallet out of his pocket, searching out his subway card as he flies down the stairs. The air is warm and stuffy the lower he goes, and it's a harsh change from the salty breeze he's enjoyed at the Hamptons over the last few months, but it's also a reminder of home. Of reality. And he breathes it in, the smell, the sounds of the Saturday morning crowds, the screech of cars on the subway rails.

Swiping his card, he pushes through the turnstile, searching each sign for the platform he needs to head home. A crash against his back, slender fingers wrapping around his wrist and jerking him to the side causes him to stumble and he spills a string of curses. When he turns around to see who it is he trails off, but the anger doesn't dissipate.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Kate's mouth drops open in a clear expression of disbelief, and he crosses his arms over his chest, determined to get this over with as quickly as possible.

"What am I doing? Seriously? What the hell are you doing? Where are you going?"

"I'm going home."

"What? Why? What did I say?"

Dropping his arms, Rick paces away as he pinches the bridge of his nose. Is she seriously asking why he's leaving? And he turns back.

She hasn't moved. Instead, she's watching him, waiting for him, defensiveness blazing in her eyes, but there's a fierceness too. She's not going to let this go.

He stalks toward her, his height an advantage, but she doesn't look away, doesn't back down. She matches him, strength to strength.

"You know nothing about me, my daughter, or what led to her choices. You spent one day with her? I've had her for twenty-one years. You don't know anything, so don't pretend otherwise."

With each word he growls at her, she deflates little by little. If he were in another frame of mind, he might feel badly about it, but instead he's just glad. Glad to make someone feel as little as he does, as weak as he does.

Because that's what he is. Weak. A terrible father, not even good enough to keep Alexis on this coast, to keep her from choosing her absent, flighty mother over him. A terrible writer, too. He's never failed so miserably before, never hit rock bottom so hard, and Kate is only serving to remind him of just how far he's fallen.

Not that his tirade prevents her from letting loose.

"I may have only spent one day with her but I'm not blind. You didn't see her in that hospital just waiting for someone to tell her that her father was dead. She was terrified. I don't know her - you're right about that - but I can swear to you that no matter what happens, no matter what a father does or doesn't do, his daughter never stops loving him, stops wanting to make him proud. She's an amazing girl, Castle, and she deserves better from you."

Spinning on her heel, Kate stomps away, and he stands there staring while she races up the stairs.

Well, that didn't go as he'd expected at all. So much for a new friend.

He turns his back on where she's just disappeared, rolling his shoulders and blowing out a frustrated breath before he continues down another staircase for the right subway platform. Time to head home and move on.

Time to forget about Kate Beckett.

* * *

><p>She turns in the direction of the precinct instead of her empty apartment. She's angry and embarrassed at how royally she'd screwed that up. One minute they were fine, teasing and laughing at each other, and the next they'd descended into clearly dangerous and sensitive territory. The warning signs were there, but she'd pushed anyway.<p>

Because that's what she does. She pushes others into facing their deepest and darkest secrets while carefully ignoring her own, but up until this point, it's only been for work, for a case. She's out of practice when it comes to her personal life, and having already been off balance with him, she'd completely missed the line, instead sailing right over it and slamming him straight back out of her life.

Shit.

She makes it to the Twelfth in record time, bursting through the front doors and jogging through the empty lobby. The elevator takes her to the fourth floor, and she slips into her office to grab her gym bag before heading up the stairs to the locker room. She needs to hit something. She needs to sweat and work it out until she's free from this feeling.

Stripping down to her underwear, she throws a sports bra on followed by a fitted tank and pants. When her feet slip into her tennis shoes, a sense of rightness settles over her. This is good. This feels like freedom.

* * *

><p>Two hours later, she's alone in the locker room standing beneath the scalding spray of the shower with her head tilted back and her eyes closed. After her run this morning and the kickboxing workout this afternoon, she's exhausted, but that's nothing a cup of coffee can't fix.<p>

Her eyes spring open at that thought. Coffee. One of her most treasured vices and now it's tainted with memories of today. She shakes her head, turning around to finish her shower and move on. The boys will hopefully be back by now and she's anxious for an update on their case.

She's anxious for a distraction, something mindless to bury herself in. Work has been the one constant over the last fifteen years, the only thing she's been able to count on since her life was ripped to shreds less than two months after she'd turned nineteen.

She's strong and one bad date won't change that.

* * *

><p><em>*runs and hides*<em>

_Don't worry. We're not done yet. _

_x, J_


	7. Chapter 7

"Darling, you're home! How was your date?"

His mother's sing-song, happy voice calls to him from the living room the moment he steps over the threshold into the loft, and he shuts the door behind him, pressing his forehead against the cool surface. He'd been hoping she wouldn't be here to witness his return from this morning's disaster, but no such luck.

"Richard? What are you doing? Come tell me all the juicy details. Isn't Katherine just absolutely wonderful?"

Knocking his head against the door a couple of times, he finally accepts his fate, turning to face her and the endless questions. Just take it one at a time and get out as fast as possible. It's the only way to survive this with any dignity.

"Hello, Mother," he says as he drops into a chair opposite her, forcing a smile when he meets her eyes.

"Really? That's all you have to offer? 'Hello, Mother.'"

He shrugs, wondering if he might be fortunate enough to have her accept that and move on to something else, but when she keeps staring, her eyes wide with anticipation, he runs an agitated hand through his hair, trying to decide how much to reveal.

"It was fine, but I don't think we'll be seeing each other again."

"What? Why ever not?"

She sounds absolutely devastated, and he digs his index finger into his temple to stave off the incoming headache. Because really, this is his personal life, not hers, and he shouldn't have to justify his choices.

Of course, she pushes for it anyway. She's never been one to not have her say in his affairs, and he doesn't know why he'd expected this to be any different. His mother is happily set in her ways it seems.

"Richard, she's perfect for you. What happened?"

"How can you say that? You don't even know her, Mother. She's not for me and I don't need anyone anyway. What makes you think I even want a partner? Aren't my two failed marriages enough of an example of how I don't need to be with someone?"

"Richard, Kate Beckett is not Meredith or Gina, and you'd know that already if you could look past the edge of your nose once in a while."

He tries to contain the growl that wants out, tries to keep his frustration in check because blowing up at her is not going to help anyone.

"I'm not having this conversation. It didn't work and that's the end of that."

Getting up, he heads for his office, leaving her alone in the living room filled with billowing fabric and obnoxiously shaped furniture. One day he will be the sole owner of this place again and that room will be the first he redecorates.

He's almost cleared the doorway when her voice stops him dead in his tracks.

"Alexis called while you were gone and I may have mentioned you were out with Katherine. She asked that you call her when you get back."

Turning slowly, he tilts his head. Alexis _wants_ him to call? Like actually wants to have a conversation with him? Did the planet flip upside down recently?

"Darling, close your mouth or you'll catch a fly." She winks as she stands, and he snaps his jaws together, wincing at the crash of his teeth. "I'm going out," she calls over her shoulder as she moves toward the front door.

He watches for just a moment before stepping into the office and shutting the door behind him. Alexis wants him to call.

Dropping into the chair behind his desk, he tugs his phone out of his pocket, pulls up his contact list, and stares at her name.

Alexis wants him to call.

She'd left for California three years ago not looking back once. Every time he'd call, she would sound… put off, always too busy to talk or only half paying attention. And now suddenly something is different. She wants to talk. Specifically requested it.

He's stunned.

Before he can over think it too much he selects her name, bringing the device to his ear as it begins to ring. Once, twice, and then she's there.

"Dad?"

She's breathless, as though she'd run to answer before she missed the call, but he stomps that thought down, not daring to get his hopes up.

"Hey, Alexis. Gram said you wanted to talk?"

"Yeah. I did."

"Is now… Is this a good time?"

She laughs, the sweet melodic sound of her voice relaxing him in ways he didn't realize he'd needed. She's still there underneath all the strain and distance; his precious little girl, too wise for her years, still exists despite what he's done to them, how hard he's pushed her away.

Maybe there is hope to salvage what they'd once had. Maybe…

Maybe he can be better for her.

"Yes. I'm just hanging out at home. Lazy Saturday. How are you, Dad?"

"I'm good. Back in the city now."

"Good. I know Gram is happy to have you home."

A surprised sound of mirth escapes him at that statement. His mother happy to have him home? Really?

"You think so?"

"What? That Gram missed you?"

"Yeah."

"Of course, Dad. Why wouldn't she?"

Why wouldn't she? It's so simple the way Alexis asks it. So basic. You love a family member therefore you miss them when they're gone. Shifting his eyes in the direction of the loft's front door, he wonders if it's true, if that's why she'd been up in the Hamptons so often and why she's been around a lot since he'd returned to the city.

They've never been big on outward affection or declarations of love, his mother and himself, but that doesn't mean he doesn't feel those things. Perhaps he's been blind recently, lost in his own bubble of pain and regret. Has he abandoned them like Kate said?

Kate.

He shakes his head. There's no room for Kate here.

"I miss you, Alexis."

Her sharp intake of breath breaks him apart. She shouldn't be surprised by that, and yet the evidence is obvious, traveling through the phone to smack him in the face. How has he been blind to this for so long?

"I miss you too," she says in a quiet, shaky voice.

"So, tell me about California. How's work been?"

The safe category seems to loosen her up a little, and she launches into a story about some big project she's been asked to participate in. She sounds shyly proud when she says her boss specifically requested her, and he can't help but feel proud too. Proud of her and disappointed in himself. His baby girl is out there, making waves and good impressions on her own, building the life she wants, with or without him.

He misses her fiercely, wishes she were sitting here with him, sharing bowls of ice cream and half-watching some cheesy movie while they talk. The way they used to. He wants that back.

But she's grown now, living 3000 miles away, and the possibility of going back to what they used to be isn't realistic.

Doesn't mean he can't try anyway. It's never too late.

"That's so great, pumpkin. I'm so proud of you."

"Thanks, Dad."

"Hey… I was just wondering. Maybe when you get some free time would you like to come for a visit? I would love to see you."

Silence greets his request, and his fear of rejection crashes down hard the longer she stays quiet.

"You really mean it?" she whispers.

"Do I…? Yes, I mean it."

"Okay. I'll check my schedule at work on Monday and get back to you? Is that okay?"

"Of course. Whenever you have time and you can stay as long as you like."

He can't stop the grin that stretches across his face, and the happy beat of his heart. It's a small step, but a step nonetheless and he can't wait to have it all planned. To have her home.

"So how did your date go?"

Her teasing voice pulls him from his mental happy dance, the reality of this morning crashing back down. Here it is. His mother, and now his daughter. Will he ever escape Kate Beckett's impact on his family?

"Gram mentioned that, huh?"

"Of course. I was wondering when you were finally going to call her."

"Why do you say that? I don't even know her."

"Dad, the whole time I was there it was Kate Beckett this and Kate Beckett that. You were infatuated. That doesn't just go away."

He's heard this a million times from his mother, but for some reason it's different coming from Alexis. His daughter is practical and methodical, never one to completely entertain his more radical ideas, but here she is, accepting his crazed ramblings as though they'd been the truth.

But they weren't. They couldn't have been. He'd never even met her.

"Alexis, I don't remember what happened then. I don't remember-"

"No, I know," she interrupts. "I'm just saying I really liked her and she seemed to be especially interested in you. It was just nice to see you go after someone like her."

He feels his hackles rise, but tries to stamp it down. She's right. Kate Beckett isn't someone he would normally be interested in, but there's just something about her…

Something different, warmer, that appeals - or did appeal - to him. Now he's not so sure.

"Well, anyway," Alexis continues, "I really hope you'll see her again."

"Thanks. I'll let you know."

* * *

><p>They talk some more before Alexis receives another phone call and has to run, leaving Rick alone with his thoughts. He turns toward the large picture window, leaning back in his desk chair while he contemplates all that Alexis has said and how well that conversation actually went.<p>

It's been hard these last three years, even before that if he's being honest, trying to find a balance between raising a teenager and living the life he'd wanted, but when Alexis had announced she was moving to California to be near her mother he'd been devastated.

They'd been fighting a lot; she didn't approve of his lifestyle choices and thought he was drowning in the failure of his last book instead of rising above to write something else, and he'd disagreed, claiming that the book and the critics' opinions had nothing to do with the way he chose to live his life.

_His_ life.

But that had been the problem, hadn't it? When you have a child it's not just your life anymore. Your child becomes your priority. After all, that's one reason why his marriage with Meredith had fallen apart. She never put Alexis first, and somewhere along the way, he'd fallen into the same trap. He'd forgotten that his highly independent and smart daughter was also still a child who'd needed her father.

_She didn't leave to hurt you._

_She loves you, Castle._

Kate's words echo, repeating over and over on an endless loop until he can't stand it anymore. Jumping up from his seat he begins to pace, trying to decide what to do. She might have been right, might have had a point, if he'd just stuck around to hear it.

But after the way he reacted would she even want to see him again? Does he want to own up to it or just cut his losses and move on?

He wrings his hands together, imagining her face, her shy smile, and an unexpected warmth spreads through his chest. She really had been wonderful. Funny, interesting, challenging in a way he hadn't experienced in years.

Up until it had all exploded in his face, that is.

Turning at just the right angle, he catches sight of his reflection in the window, and walks closer, examining the lines and dark circles that haven't always been there.

He's getting older, and all that he can see ahead is a boring, lonely future. The young women, the blondes and bimbos, are fun, but they're always temporary.

But a gorgeous woman of substance, a woman with brains and passion, may be the companion he's been missing.

Standing in the middle of his office, staring at his reflection in the window, he makes a decision. Putting his past behind him for Alexis' sake is step one, and letting go of his pride is step two. Each is a step toward the future he's been so afraid to want.

Afraid to fight for.

* * *

><p>He makes it to her apartment in record time, his heart racing with the unknown that awaits him on the other side of her door. Will she open it only to slam it in his face? He doesn't dare hope that she will be happy to see him, and he wouldn't blame her if that were the case.<p>

Focused on the plank of dark wood, he takes a deep breath before he lifts his fist, tapping it against the door three times. He shoves his hands in his pockets while he waits, his ears straining to hear footsteps on the other side.

But it's silent. No sound of the chain unlatching, no locks being turned, nothing to indicate she's planning to answer.

He raps against the door again only to receive the same response. The deafening lack of noise coming from her apartment - even the hall is eerily quiet - and he looks side to side. The nervous excitement is quickly draining, leaving a deflated slump to his shoulders in its wake.

What to do? What to do?

Leaning against the wall to the left of her door, he rubs his forehead. Eight million people in this city, countless places for her to be. He could call, but then that defeats the purpose of the surprise. Besides, face-to-face makes it harder for her to ignore him.

But without knowing where she is…

And then he gets an idea. Checking his watch, he decides it's the best choice he has at this point. She'd said there was a case, and that means the Twelfth.

Racing back to the elevator, he pulls out his phone and maps a route to the precinct. It's easy enough to follow so he locks the device and tucks it back into his pocket, hoping his instincts are right and that she'll be there.

* * *

><p>Kate shifts from foot to foot in the observation room while she watches the boys through the window, ripping their suspect to shreds with evidence proving the man's guilt. They've done well with this case - not that she'd expected any different - but the fact that this is their arrest, their case, sits heavy on her conscience.<p>

The streets call to her everyday, her fingers itching for the murder board and the mountains of evidence, and she yearns for the feeling of knowing she's got the right guy, that she's making the city she loves a better and safer place. Except these days she's stuck with a phone glued to her ear and piles of statistics, quotas, and budgets strewn across her desk.

It's a far cry from her old detective status, and some days she wonders why climbing the ranks to captain so quickly had been her ultimate goal. She's stuck here now, though, so she makes the best of it while checking in with her detectives and tossing theories around whenever she has the time.

Like now. She wants to burst into Interrogation to help the boys take this guy out but they don't need her. She's not their lead anymore, and that means she has to stay back here on the other side of the glass. She has to let them do their job while she does hers.

When their suspect is busy signing his confession, she slips away, content with the resolution of the case. She heads straight for the break room and a very welcome hit of caffeine, her head dipped low as she walks the familiar steps.

She's about to pass through the open door when a quiet but strong voice breaks through and her movement stalls.

"Kate?"

He's dressed the same as he'd been this morning, though his hair is decidedly less neat, and his eyes are clear, the blue piercing in its intensity.

And in each hand he holds a white disposable coffee cup, one of which has her name written across the side.

He extends that arm toward her, a determined expression painting itself across his features, and says, "I was hoping we could talk."


End file.
